


Purple Eyes And Butterflies

by LetsTryThisAgain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha!Peter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Feral Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Stiles, M/M, Mentions Non-Con Drug Use, Mentions of Slavery, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Feral Peter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, teacher!Peter, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsTryThisAgain/pseuds/LetsTryThisAgain
Summary: Omegas are thought to not exist, then Peter chases a feral one into a hunter's trap. Now what the hell is he supposed to do with him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check end notes for more details on warnings/triggers. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, mainly for fun and practice, and angst since I am an angst gremlin. If I miss anything in the tags please let me know and I'll add it. There is no posting schedule as of yet.

“Omegas don’t exist.” Jackson tucked the college text book into his bag. Peter didn’t think it had been opened all semester. “They’re a bunch of made up bullshit. We all would have met one by now if they were real.”

Scott and Isaac stood from their desks, each tucking their own things away. 

“We don’t know everything,” Isaac muttered. The beta would never straight out disagree with an alpha, this was as close as anything Peter had seen. “It’s like saying aliens don’t exist, there’s no way we could ever know one hundred percent.”

Jackson huffed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “This class is stupid, I’d rather learn about aliens.”

“Have a wonderful winter break.” Peter waved to them, grinning when Jackson hesitated, realizing he’d insulted the older alpha. 

“Whatever.” Jackson adjusted the grip on his bag, stalking toward the door. 

“I like the class.” Kira slipped up to Scott’s side, her arm looping around his to drag him from the room. Peter had heard her, Scott, and Isaac talking about going to the movies before heading over to the McCall house for dinner. She turned, throwing Peter a wide smile. “I think omegas are real.” She was such a sweet human, he could easily see why Isaac and Scott were falling head over heels for her.

“Thank you, Kira.” Peter smiled back at her, “At least some of you heathens acknowledge my work.”

“You didn’t gather that information about omegas.” Lydia stood next to Jordan for a second before they wound their way through the aisle of desks. “All you do is read from the text book. What if Alexander Beaufort III was high off his ass on wolfsbane and hallucinated the whole thing; then claimed the omega hypnotized him and ran off to avoid looking like a moron.”

“Then he was a genius to fool the Were Council and we should still be taking notes from him,” Peter snapped, only half playfully. 

Jordan chuckled, leading Lydia away before she could argue another point. 

“Have a good full moon!” Jordan called over his shoulder, vanishing into the hall.

Scott, Kira, and Isaac followed shortly after, leaving Peter alone in his classroom to collect the last of his things. 

Omega Basics was not Peter’s first choice on classes to teach at Beacon Hills Community College, but if anyone, were or human, wanted to obtain even an associates degree, they had to pass his class first. Jackson hadn’t been wrong, omegas were rare, only a handful of text books referred to them, but there were enough encounters to warrant a class on how to handle one. 

Omegas weren’t like alphas and betas, they had the lowest senses of the dynamics, the slowest reflexes, almost like they were human with a couple werewolf perks.

Alphas were the fastest, the strongest, able to out run a car and knock down a wall with their hands. They could track a scent days old through muck and grime, heal from wounds in seconds as long as it wasn’t contaminated with wolfsbane, or inflicted by another alpha, or, as Alexander Beaufort III stated, an omega.

Alphas could also full and beta shift at will, unlike betas who could only full shift on the full moon and were left only able to beta shift the rest of the time. Omegas had no beta shift at all but, like the alphas, could full shift whenever they pleased. The closest thing to a beta shift ever reported from them was a flash of purple eyes. 

It was crucial for everyone to know the basics when it came to omegas. You don’t go between them and their pack, several weres had claimed to have lost limbs since omega wounds were slow to heal, designed to protect their pack. And you do not give chase, an alpha might be fast, but an omega had more stamina and could out distance even the fastest of runners. 

Peter sighed. He snatched the keys to the classroom up off the desk. It was Saturday, and this was his last class until school resumed in January. Part of him was happy for the reprieve. The students were growing restless, perhaps even bored. Reading from a book was hardly thrilling, even to him. 

But with winter break came Talia’s holiday party. Every pack member from the great grandparents to the smallest of pups would be crammed on the preserve, and he’d only been successful at escaping the event twice in the last ten years. Once after Kate tried to start the fire and he was in the hospital, and the second when he was in the Eichen House, almost completely feral from the near disaster. 

A chill ran down his spine as he locked the door, those were memories he didn’t want to think about. 

The full moon tugged gently at his bones when he stepped out into the parking lot, it wasn’t dark yet but it was getting there quickly. 

Peter unlocked the car, slipping into the driver seat, and tossing his work bag onto the passenger seat. 

Truth be told, he’d much rather run places than drive, but the doctors at Eichen House got one thing correct when they told him small human tendencies would help ground him. The wolf hiding just under his skin cowed at the sound of the engine turning over, it didn’t like it when Peter drove. 

The drive home passed in a methodical blur of red and green lights. He pulled up to the loft he’d bought on impulse after being released, the moon was now above the horizon, full and hiding just behind a fluffy cloud. 

Peter stretched and looked at it. The wolf inside him paced, ready to run, tonight was the one night it was let free and it knew its time had come.

He stripped off his clothes, tossing them into the car and shifted. His bones cracked, contorting and twisting until he stood on all fours, mouth open just slightly in a light pant. A shiver ran across his back. It was time to run.

Setting a curfew for humans on a full moon had been voted on by the Were Council and human government and shot down time and time again, one side saying it wasn’t fair to restrict their free will while the other tried to reason safety, then the sides alternating the next time it was brought up. Though most wolves were in control, accidents could, and did, happen. And though no laws were in place, humans often opted to stay inside, just in case. 

Peter started into the tree line at a trot, the cool night air was crisp and a gentle breeze ruffled his fur, it smelled like snow. He quickened his pace, paws flying soundlessly over the hard earth. In the distance he could hear the howls starting, pack mates calling out to each other, pups playing hunt-n-chase, it almost made him smile. Almost. 

He veered along a creek bed, following his own property line, he could vaguely smell the trail the hunters had taken weeks ago. They hadn’t gotten very far. He’d tailed them for a couple miles, hoping that they were hunting deer like they claimed to be, but when he’d caught the scent of wolfsbane bullets any optimism was gone. No news of their disappearance had yet to make the headlines, and Peter felt proud. No one would hurt his pack again.

The scent hit him first. It was faint on the wind, a light cinnamon with a bitter twist of something sour—fear. 

Peter growled at the unfamiliar smell, lifting his head to catch more of it. He knew everyone in Beacon Hills, were and human, and this smell didn’t belong to anyone he recognized. He sped off in the direction the scent had come from. If more hunters were here he was going to need to find a new place to hide the bodies.

He tracked the scent up a hill, where it grew steadily stronger, whoever it was wasn’t moving, or wasn’t moving very fast. He padded around a wide tree trunk, squinting through the darkness, confident that he’d see whoever it was before they saw him. 

He was getting close. A clearing came into view, he hovered hear the trees, belly low, he’d found them.

A bright red head shot up from the low grass of the clearing. Peter recognized it instantly as a young wolf. A wolf who was on his property. He let out a warning growl, even pups knew better than to intrude on another territory during the full moon.

The head whipped toward him, ears flicking back and forth, lips drawing up in a snarl. The fur on the back of its neck raised, making it look larger than it actually was. 

Peter huffed silently in amusement, that trick wasn’t going to work on him. He flashed red eyes, stepping toward the wolf. A beta would cower, lowering itself to the ground into submission. An alpha would flash its eyes back and either submit or challenge him back. This wolf ran.

Peter balked at the sudden twist and burst of movement, that hadn’t been what he was expecting at all. He took off after it—him, he corrected himself, catching a stronger whiff of the smell. 

The other wolf wasn’t fast, but certainly agile, darting between tree trunks and underbrush. It’s small frame making it easier for it to elude him. 

Peter snarled when the wolf ducked under a cluster of thorn bushes, he braced himself to follow, plowing straight through the vines. The thorns cut through his thick fur and down to his skin, it hurt, even if the scratches healed quickly.

A startled yip told him that the wolf hadn’t expected him to do that, and he began running again. 

Peter could smell the scent of the last hunters just below the scent of the wolf, he shook his head to clear his nose, watching the red body before him bound just out of reach.

It happened in an instant. The ground the red wolf stepped on sprung up, five plates of chainlink fencing jerking upward, pulled by a pulley system in one of the larger trees, trapping the wolf in a cage.

The wolf lost its balance, falling and stumbling as the cage swung. It reared up, pawing at the fencing and trying to jump out, but the holes in the fence were just large enough for its paws to slip through, leaving it no room for leverage. 

Peter jerked in a silent laugh, served the pup right. The trap was almost certainly left by the hunters he’d taken care of. By smell alone he could tell it was just a cage, no wolfsbane to weaken whatever wolf it caught, it was meant to trap wolves to sell them. Surely the pup had been told scary stories about being sold to other hunters as prizes.

Peter stood there for a moment, watching the pups growing panic. He continued trying to find his footing and climb or jump out of the cage. His heartbeat grew increasingly faster, breath coming in shorter and shorter breaths. 

Peter shifted back to his human form, arms folding over his chest. “This is what you get for intruding on someone else’s territory.” His eyes were already tracking the ropes and pulley, it would be easy enough to get the other down. “Where’s your pack?”

Little Red whined, shrinking back against the wall farthest from Peter, snarling, tail tucked low between his legs. 

Peter raised an eyebrow, walking closer to the cage. The fur around the wolfs neck was still raised but he could see a compression just above his shoulders. A collar. 

“I guess you’re already familiar with the black market.” Peter frowned, the collar was pressed deeply into the pup’s skin and as he walked even closer to the cage he could smell the metallic scent of blood and putrid smell of infection under the near constant fear. “Can you shift?”

Little Red jerked around to watch where Peter was going, ears pressed flat back against his head. 

If the wolf shifted, the collar was big enough to be pulled off without much trouble, and he’d be able to talk which would be a bonus since Peter wasn’t as fluent in growls and snarls as he claimed to be. 

“ **Shift**.” Peter commanded, eyes flashing red.

The wolf whined, stilling and shrinking even further away. 

Peter’s heart stuttered. The wolf had gone feral. 

A snarl of rage bubbled up from his chest, arms falling to his side. What had happened to this _pup_ to send him into the last survival mode wolves possessed? 

Little Red laid on his stomach, watching Peter with careful eyes.

The pup needed help. It wasn’t like his own experience at the Eichen House had been wonderful, they’d pumped him full of drugs until he was calm enough to control his shift, claimed him good to go and set him loose back to his sister. 

Peter ran a hand over his face. 

“First things first, when I get you down, don’t run.” He spoke slowly, deliberately like enunciating each word would help his feral companion understand.

Little Red’s ears drew back. 

Peter sighed, the wolf was going to run. He made quick work of the ropes, catching half of the cage before it toppled to the ground. Just as he predicted, Little Red bolted, but he was ready, he closed the distance between them with several quick leaps, tackling the wolf to the ground.

They rolled across the dirt. If Peter wanted this wolf to listen to him, he’d need to submit. Submitting and dominance were engrained into every wolfs mind, even at this stage of survival, that much he could recall first hand. 

Peter clamped his jaws at the base of Little Reds neck, just above the collar, and bit down, effectively pinning him by the shoulder and hip at the same time. He laid on top of the young wolf, their rapid breathing and heartbeats was all Peter could hear. 

Little Red went limp, head turning to the side and exposing his neck where Peter had his face buried. 

Peter grinned, he won. He always won. He pulled back to inspect Little Red’s collar, not lifting his weight yet incase the other got any ideas. 

Little Red still didn’t move. 

The collar was deep but not so deep that Peter didn’t think he couldn’t get it off with his claws. His fingers hovered just above the dark material.

“Bite me and I’ll bite you back,” Peter warned.

Little Red whined, tensing as Peter’s claws tightened on the fabric. It fell away faster than Peter anticipated and the oozing stench of infection slammed into his lungs. His eyes watered as he inspected the collar, it had to be laced with something to keep the wound open long enough to allow bacteria in it. 

He didn’t smell any wolfsbane, or see any debris, but as the collar twisted in the flickering moonlight a name stitched into it caught his eye.

“Stiles.” 

Little Red jerked, catching Peter off guard and nearly wiggling free. Peter growled, pinning him down again. The last thing Beacon Hills needed was a feral wolf on the loose. 

“ **Stiles, stop**.” He ordered, even a feral beta would feel the command of an alpha, even if it wasn’t their own. His eyes flashed red again, and Stiles’s flashed purple.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to post this soon but my brain got away from me and now I have another chapter, so here ya'll go. Thank you for all the Kudos and Comments :D They warm my heart.

It took Peter the better half of an hour to get the omega to the parking lot of the loft. Stiles winced whenever he moved his head and had suddenly taken a liking to sticking as close to Peter’s feet as possible. 

Peter let out an annoyed sigh when he accidentally kicked him the second time, Stiles only reacted by slinking lower to the ground, casting long glances up at the alpha. 

“That was my fault. You’re fine,” Peter assured, letting the tips of his fingers graze across Stiles’s back. “It’ll be okay.”

Stiles’s ears twitched faster as they approached the loft. Peter listened to his quickening heartbeat. 

Being in another wolfs territory was scary, being _feral_ in another wolfs territory had been one of the scariest movements of his life. And that wolf had been his sister.

Peter motioned toward the stairs toward the front door. “Up.”

He had no control while he had snarled at Talia from the doorway, only reacting on instinct as he smelled the fear of his alpha. She’d pinned him in a similar way he’d just done to Stiles, and like Stiles was currently doing to him, he never left her side. 

Peter unlocked the door and they both slipped into the dark room. Out of habit he flicked on the lights, a low whine at his feet and sudden pressure on his knees was the weakest escape Stiles had attempted yet.

“Shh.” Peter comforted, running a hand along Stiles’s back. 

Stiles quivered, not used to being touched, or not being touched nicely. He pressed his forehead into Peter’s thigh, gently turning it side to side, marking the older wolf.

Peter smiled briefly to himself, quickly replaced by a frown. He squatted next to Stiles, realizing belatedly that he still had to get his things from the car—it could wait. 

Stiles _looked_ like a werewolf. Peter leaned closer to scent Stiles back, his hand raising to dip along the healthy part of his neck and under his chin. But he didn’t smell like a were, only an animal.

Stiles’s trembling grew stronger, he leaned into the touch for a second, then tried to take a step back, only to cringe and step forward again.

Peter sat on the floor, his back pressed against the door of the loft, not that Stiles could open the door in this state, that just happened to be where it was when he sat down.

He slowly opened his arms in a wide gesture. “Come here.”

Stiles turned and slunk into the dining nook, crawling on his belly under the chairs until he was confined to the smallest corner of the room, glaring at Peter intensely.

A sigh escaped Peter’s lips. Wolves craved a pack, and with a pack came affection, generally speaking, the pup under his dining table seemed to want nothing to do with it. 

Even Peter in his half-minded state before and just after being released from the Eichen House craved touch. He’d slept at Talia’s feet while she worked in the study, or rough housed with Derek, Laura, and Cora on the lawn. There wasn’t a second when he would have thought about hiding if it meant he’d been away from them.

They were also family, pack, and to Stiles, he was only an alpha who made him submit. 

Peter sighed again, this time more angrily. He made his way into the kitchen, pulling a couple of steaks from the fridge, and various seasonings from the cabinet. 

Eyes on the side of his head and the content hummingbird thrum of Stiles’s heartbeat was the only clue that he was still in the loft. Even as Peter stood feet away he had to struggle to catch anything under the scent of _wolf_. And he thought of himself as a great tracker, thank you very much. 

His face pulled tight as he caught a glimmer of pain. Pain was to be expected, since Stiles was hurt. Pain was usually one of the stronger scents wolves gave off.

His eyes cut to Stiles. Little Red wasn’t growling, but his lip was pulled up over his teeth in a clear display of displeasure. 

Peter seasoned and cooked one of the steaks. The other sat on the counter, in Stiles’s line of sight. The motive of this wasn’t to tease him, only so he could see that nothing had been done to it. 

By the time the food was done cooking Stiles had drool dripping from his jowls and onto the floor. 

In a normal pack setting, the alpha ate the first bite, Peter wouldn’t necessarily call their meeting normal, nor the setting in which they met.

He grabbed his own plate, fully prepared to eat in the living room incase Stiles took his ankles as a threat and tried to bite him, it was best to not push him too far in one night. He took the uncooked steak off the counter, tossing it across the room.

Stiles skittered backwards in fear, taking one of the chairs with him. The steak hit the floor just before the table and Stiles lurched forward, snatching the food in his teeth and carrying it back into his den.

Peter just watched.

Stiles laid the steak on his paws, his amber eyes staring back at him in earnest confusion.

_Oh._

Peter ripped a piece of his food off with his claws, shoving it in his mouth. Stiles didn’t need anymore of an invitation, he dove into the meat, within seconds, the steak was gone.

Once dinner was done, Peter retrieved his things from the car. He placed the Omega Basics text book on the couch and put his bag at the bottom of the stairs. A quick glance toward the dining room showed Stiles hadn’t moved.

Peters skin tingled, though he’d scented Stiles earlier the smell had started to wear off and now the smell of strange wolf and sick had begun to permeate his home.

Give him space, he told himself, making a show of turning his back to the growling chair legs. Show him you’re not a threat so he calms down. 

Peter cleaned up the kitchen and made his way back to the couch, flipping open the book he’d seen way to many times but suddenly couldn’t recall anything about.

The first paragraph his eyes fell on mentioned female omega fertility, he looked at Stiles, then back to the book, that wasn’t information he needed this second. 

His hands skimmed over the corners of the pages, turning them lightly until the heading _How to Calm a Scared Omega_ made him pause. A quick read of the paragraph revealed a short list. Touch, well duh, all wolves calmed down with touch from a familiar pack member. Scent, Peter let out an irritated sort, again, that would calm down any wolf if it came from a _familiar pack member_. And if both of those failed, using an alpha tone.

Peter closed the book. He had used an alpha tone, more than once, and it didn’t have any effect on Stiles. Maybe Lydia was right and this Beaufort person was just crazy.

The sudden vibration of his phone on the counter pulled him from his thoughts. He rose from the couch, ignoring Stiles as he shied further away, nervously chewing on the leg of the table.

Talia’s photo lit up his screen as her call came through. Peter mentally groaned.

“What?” he snapped, bringing the phone to his ear.

Stiles let out a soft whine at his tone.

“Well, hello to you too.” He could hear the smile on her voice. “I’m just reminding you that the holiday party is the day after tomorrow.”

Peter rolled his eyes, of course that’s what she wanted to talk about, no ‘how are you’s or ‘what’s been going on’, nope, just the holiday party.

“I’m not going,” he said, propping his hip against the counter, gaze trained on Stiles.

Stiles lifted and lowered his head trying to see Peter from around the obstacles of his make shift den.

“Peter,” Talia sighed. “It’s not good for you to hole yourself up in your loft.” They’d had this conversation so many times, and Peter wasn’t about to have it again.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” he said, forcing a happy tone into his voice and ignoring her statement. “Somethings have come up, and I won’t be going.”

Stiles laid down on his side, legs, neck, and tail stretched out, still watching him.

“What came up?” She sounded sad, resigned. Peter didn’t want to empathize with her, but just like taking the car home, it was the little things that grounded him, and unfortunately the holiday party made that minimal list.

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Peter sat down next to the cabinets, offering his hand out to Stiles.

Stiles didn’t move.

“If it’s work related you can bring it here and work on it.”

Peter laughed, the sound startled Stiles, he jerked up, smacking his head on the underside of the table. He whined and lowered himself back down, inching back until his back pressed up against the wall under the window. From where he sat on the floor Peter could see the wound on his neck oozing more.

“I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” Peter said carefully, scooting on his bottom closer to the table. His wound needed to be cleaned out and probably bandaged. “Do you still have Deaton’s number?” The question was out before he could stop himself.

Talia paused on the other end of the line. “Peter,” her tone was all seriousness, “are you having trouble with your shift?”

Now Peter paused, it took him a second to realize she meant ‘him’ as in his wolf and not as in the wolf taking refuge under the mahogany table. Not that she could know that, but she always managed to be one step ahead of him.

“I’m fine, Talia dear,” he drawled. Oh good lord, his sister was going to find out anyway, one way or another he might as well tell her and get it over with. “I have an injured feral omega under my dining room table who needs to be looked at by a doctor since he can’t heal like we do.”

“For crying out loud, Peter.” Talia exclaimed in exasperation. “That’s your most outrageous excuse yet. You couldn’t at least come up with something realistic?”

“I need Deaton’s number.” Peter pressed the pads of his fingers into his eyes, too bad they weren’t in person where she could hear his heartbeat and know he wasn’t lying.

“I’ll text it to you.” Talia’s voice was small. “Thank you for acknowledging when you need help.”

Peter huffed out a dry laugh, he still hadn’t pulled his hand away from his face when she hung up the phone and a text came through.

Peter let his hand fall away from his face, he opened the text, clicked the number and listened to it ring.

Deaton answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Deaton,” Peter greeted. Stiles lifted his head just slightly under the table, then placed it back down, he smelled tired. 

“Peter.” Deaton sounded surprised, but Peter knew better, Deaton was never surprised. “Is something wrong?”

“Not with me.” Peter stretched his legs out in front of him, easing himself up to his feet. 

Deaton gave a small noise in disbelief.

“But if you can, I’d like you to come over as soon as possible.” Peter pulled a bowl from the top cabinet, filling it with water from the sink. “I found a feral were who’s neck has been infected from a collar that was too tight.”

Peter didn’t think he had to go into too many details, he could explain everything to him in person when he came over. Deaton wasn’t a stranger to victims of the Black Market, and he probably clued in right away at the mention of a collar. 

“How feral?” Deaton asked, his voice calm yet stilted. 

Peter slid the bowl across the floor with his toes until it was under the table and well within Stiles’s reach. Stiles’s lip drew up over his teeth.

“Worse than I was.” It felt strange to admit, but Peter felt it was true, at least he had been able to shift to a beta form before being dragged off. Maybe it just felt like Stiles was worse because he didn’t have a beta form to shift to.

“Does he need to go to the Eichen House?” 

Peter flinched at the doctors words, he knew logically that Deaton was only trying to help, but, “He doesn’t need to be drugged to relax, he needs to feel safe and part of a pack.” He crossed the room, flopping on the couch. That’s all he’d wanted when he was feral. 

A pregnant pause on the line made Peter twitch. Deaton wouldn’t drag Stiles off, he had seen first hand what Peter had gone through. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

“I can be over tomorrow morning,” Deaton finally said. 

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “He’ll need antibiotics, a small, human dose maybe. He’s young.”

Betas could take human antibiotics if push came to shove, they just needed a larger dose. Alphas couldn’t, not that Peter had ever seen an alpha need some, but it would be broken down by their system too fast to have any affect. The age of the beta often came into play, just as human age did when it came to medications.

“I’ll be prepared.” Deaton sounded clinical. There was another pause. “Anything else, Peter?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Peter hung up the phone, noticing for the first time the soft lapping of water from under the table. Good, the pup needed to drink.

It was dark and at some point after 2AM when Peter heard the noise. A terrified sound caught between a whine and a howl. He was out of bed, through the door, and down the metal spiral stairs before he realized he’d even moved. 

The chairs around the table creaked and shifted as the mass beneath them flinched and cowered in it’s sleep.

Stiles’s breath came in fast raspy breath, paws twitching as he tried to outrun whatever was chasing him. Peter hoped the dream wasn’t about him. 

Peter pushed the chairs out of the way, squatting next to the table.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He placed a hand on Stiles’s flank. 

Stiles reacted. His eyes flew open, teeth and jaws snapping around Peter’s wrist.

Peter didn’t move, didn’t try to tug his hand free. He should have known better. He bit back the answering growl his wolf wanted to give, to force Stiles to let go, back down and submit. Somehow he managed to keep calm.

Glowing purple eyes blinked up at him once, then grew wide, realization flooding his face and scent. Stiles let go, licking apologetically at the wound he’d left. Blood trailed down Peter’s wrist, dropping softly to the floor despite Stiles’s best efforts to make it stop bleeding. 

The wound didn’t automatically heal. Peter’s head tilted slightly, maybe the text book did have a little bit of truth. 

Stiles whined, licking at the injury faster.

“It’s alright,” Peter assured. He pulled his hand back and stood. “I’m going back to bed.”

Stiles watched him as he grabbed several paper towels to press against the wound. It wasn’t _bad_ but it was starting to sting. He made his way back up the stairs, he wouldn’t have minded if Stiles had followed him, but the other seemed too nervous to want to do anything except stay under the table and he wasn’t going to push. 

He heard Stiles wake up again around 5AM, but after a quick bit of snuffling and heavy breathing he’d soothed himself back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all your feedback! <3 Thank you so much.
> 
> And apparently, Peter still has issues. :/

Deaton’s car pulled into the parking lot at 8AM. Peter heard him coming. He leaned against the counter, nursing the black coffee though it didn’t do anything for him other than the flavor. His wrist stung when he flexed his fingers around the mug, gently setting it down on the counter.  
Stiles was still hiding under the table. Watching. Always wary. This was going to be interesting. 

He listened to the approaching footsteps and slid over to open the door before the doctor could knock.

“Good morning,” Peter greeted, shifting just slightly on his feet to block Stiles’s view of Deaton. 

The low rumble from beneath the table was instantaneous.

Deaton lifted an eyebrow at him in a manner very similar to Talia’s and Derek’s. “Am I not allowed in?” His gaze flicked to Peter’s injured wrist, then over his shoulder, a slow frown creeping its way across his face.

Peter knew he wasn’t able to see Stiles from where he hid, but the beta doctor could certainly hear him. 

“Don’t make any loud noises or sudden movements.” Peter took a slow step to the side, allowing a small path. “Pretty sure his name’s Stiles, that’s what was on the collar so that’s what I’ve been calling him.”

“I know how to handle myself among feral wolves, Peter.” Deaton stepped into the loft, eyes flitting around the open area.

Peter shut the door and hummed, being sure to stay next to Deaton incase Stiles tried to bite him as well. “I’m sure you do.” Peter watched as Deaton set his bag on the counter, not looking directly at Stiles but not ignoring him either. “He’s a bit different.”

Deaton was several feet away from the table, a distance that even Peter would have considered safe, but one that Stiles obviously didn’t think was. 

Stiles’s growls grew more persistent, desperately trying to warn Deaton off as he crouched down.

“Have you found a way to calm him down?” Deaton asked, lowering his head just slightly to show he wasn’t a threat. “He’ll end up hurting his vocal cords if he keeps this up.”

The growls didn’t stop, if anything they seemed to get louder. 

“Not really,” Peter admitted. He made his way toward the table, sitting down next to it.

Stiles didn’t move his eyes off of Deaton until Peter accidentally bumped a leg of a chair with his elbow. The squeaking sound of it against the hard floors made Stiles flinch, jerking his head to look at him, then back at Deaton. 

Stiles worked his jaw silently, licking his jowls, panting from stress. 

“Deaton’s here to help you.” Peter tried, pitching his tone low and soft.

Stiles stopped growling long enough to lap at the water in the bowl from the night before and resumed again. 

The slight twitch of Stiles’s ears didn’t go unnoticed by Peter. Stiles was listening to him, even if he wasn’t completely understanding. 

“He needs to look at the wound on your neck.” Peter crossed his legs, leaving his arms at his side, trying to make himself look as non threatening as possible. “I can’t imagine it feels good, and he can give you medicine to make it heal faster.” 

Deaton took a small step toward the table, still keeping himself low to the ground. Stiles matched him a step in the opposite direction, bringing him closer to Peter. 

“Did you tell Talia about this?” Deaton asked, taking another small step. 

Again, Stiles inched closer to Peter. 

“Of course.” Peter rolled his eyes. “She didn’t believe me and promptly told me she was proud of me for seeking help because she assumes I’m the only wolf who’s ever gone feral. I still think she expects me to go to the party.” He tacked on the last bit with a sigh. 

“I’ll talk to her.” Deaton sat down across the room from Peter. 

Stiles was almost in Peter’s lap by this point, head lowered and ears back. 

“You’re alright,” Peter soothed. 

Stiles’s ears flicked again, catching his voice. 

“You’re doing so well.” It wasn’t a lie. Stiles hadn’t bolted to another part of the house, or tried to attack Deaton so in his eyes the visit was going successfully. 

Stiles lowered himself onto his belly, his left side pressing against Peter’s leg. 

“Good boy,” Peter purred. He lifted a careful hand, running his fingers along Stiles’s back just light enough to disturb the fur.

Stiles pressed closer against his leg and Peter added a bit more pressure to the touch until he felt skin and bone.

“He’s underweight.” Peter rubbed his hand up and down Stiles’s back. 

Stiles turned his head, brushing his nose and face against Peter’s sleep pants, scenting him.

Deaton took the moment to close the distance between them.

Peter felt Stiles tense but he didn’t stop his ministrations. “You’re doing such a good job.” The words tumbled softly from his mouth and the fast pattering of Stiles’s heart began to slow. “You’re being so brave right now.”

Stiles pressed harder into him, wiggling his nose under Peter’s knee until his leg was resting on his face. 

Deaton glanced at Peter for permission before reaching out to touch Stiles. 

Peter nodded, he was close enough to stop Stiles from doing anything to Deaton should he react, but he also felt Stiles was content to try and hide underneath him and wouldn’t move at all.

Stiles flinched when Deaton’s fingers brushed the fur away from the wound.

“It’s definitely infected.” The frown had returned to Deaton’s face, his hands clinically moved along Stiles’s body, feeling his ribs and spine, checking for any abnormalities. After a few tantalizing minutes Deaton sat back on his heels, leveling Peter with a serious look. “Was there any wolfsbane in the collar?”

“No.” Peter dipped his hands over Stiles’s ears, down what he could reach of his jaw, and out along his side. “None in the trap either.”

“What trap?” 

Peter quickly relayed their short chase through the trees and the metal cage that had sprung up from the ground. “It was left over from the hunters that came through a while ago.”

Deaton’s expression didn’t waver. “I never heard anything about hunters passing through.”

Peter shrugged, rubbing a spot just above Stiles’s hip that had him melting into the floor.

“Peter, you can’t kill every hunter that comes passing through the area.”

“Only the ones who have malicious intent.” Peter nodded, pushing against Stiles’s side until he rolled over, belly and underside of his neck exposed for Deaton to look at. “The trap proved that.”

“Yes. Did you know about the trap before Stiles stumbled into it?”

Peter didn’t acknowledge him. He was doing what he could to keep the people of Beacon Hills safe. He wasn’t going to allow another Kate to get by him.

Realizing the conversation was futile Deaton went back to the more pressing matter. “What are you not telling me? If there was nothing in the trap or collar any were would be able to fight off this kind of infection within a few hours.”

“Does he smell like a were to you?” Peter knew betas couldn’t smell as well as alphas, knew that they had to really lean into someone to smell their emotions or mental state, but with where Deaton sat so close to them on the floor, Stiles’s scent should be well within distance.

Deaton thew him a scowling glance, then his nostrils flared. “He smells like a wolf, an animal, but the scent of a _were_ could be masked by being feral.”

“You’re saying when you went into the Eichen House to check up on me that I smelled like an animal and not a were. That, had I been mixed in with a pack of wolves from a zoo, you could not have told the difference.” Peter lifted a disbelieving eyebrow.

Deaton stilled, gaze bouncing between Peter and Stiles. “I would have known the difference.” His gaze landed back on Peter. “What point are you getting at?”

“Stiles is an omega.”

Deaton didn’t call him a liar like Talia had done, only watched him carefully, looking for any signs of a lie. The scrutiny was probably similar to how Peter would react if any of his students came to class saying they’d run into an omega. He didn’t think less of the doctor for it. 

“He doesn’t respond to an alpha tone, he’s not healing very fast, his nearly out ran me in the woods, would have even if he hadn’t gotten trapped, and his eyes flashed purple.” Peter could see the emotions flickering across Deaton’s face, could smell them wafting off of him. Surprise, disbelief, anger, panic.

“Did you tell Talia this?” The words sounded hollow, like he was still pulled away in his thoughts. 

“Yes, but like I told you earlier, she called me a liar, said I could come up with something more realistic as an excuse to avoid the party.”

Deaton nodded slowly, dragging himself away from whatever he was thinking. “No one can know about him. Hunters would be after him in a heartbeat if they caught a rumor of this.”

“Hunter’s already know.” Peter’s hand hovered just over the neck wound, then trailed back down along Stiles’s spine.

“No smart hunter would be asking questions about him,” Deaton ignored him. “If they did they’d risk losing him to the person with the largest gun.”

Peter growled. No hunter was ever going to hurt Stiles again. 

Stiles whined, pulling his head free to see what was the matter. He rested his chin on Peter’s knee, staring blankly into the kitchen when no threat became apparent.

“I’ll look more into omega’s and see what I can find, I’ll get back to you if I find out anything important.”

Peter huffed, ‘important’ was in the eye of the beholder, he wanted to know it all. 

“I’ll also tell Talia you’re unable to go to the party.” Deaton backed away from Stiles, heading over to where he’d left his bag. 

“I can’t believe I need a doctors note to get out of a pack social event.” Peter shook his head in mild disbelief.

Deaton produced a bottle of pills and an ointment, setting them on the counter. “Ointment once a day, pills morning and night if he’ll take them. Ointment is for infection, pills are a nutritional supplement.”

“Thank you,” Peter said.

Stiles lifted his head enough to watch Deaton.

“I’ll be back in three days to check his progress.” 

Peter hummed. Stiles butted his head against his leg, demanding attention. Peter continued to pet him, the contact transferring both of their scents onto the other, calming Stiles and pleasing the wolf inside him.

Stiles huffed, his tail giving the smallest of twitches when Peter’s hands found the hard to reach spot on the small of his back.

Peter preened at the reaction.

“Peter,” Deaton called gently, drawing his attention back to where he was still standing by the counter.

“What?” The word came out more like a growl and Peter quickly bit back the hostile emotions, struggling briefly to regain composure at the interruption.

“If the council finds out about you taking care of the hunters they won’t be pleased.” Deaton spoke slowly, a cautious scent drifting off of him.

“They won’t find out.” His words sounded normal again. He narrowed his eyes at the doctor. “Right?”

“I won’t tell them, I just want you to be careful.” Deaton picked up his bag with a long breath. “Careful with them, and Stiles.”

Peter sat up straighter.

“If you feel like being around another feral wolf is making you regress you need to consider other options.“

“I won’t.” Peter felt his eyes flash as the words slipped off his lips.

Deaton nodded. “Alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> Non-Con Drug use is for Eichen House drugging feral wolves into a calmer state so they can shift back to a human and slowly reground themselves. 
> 
> Mentions of Slavey is for Stiles being kept as a trophy pet by some hunters who he manages to escape. There will be no Slavery between the main pair in this fic.


End file.
